Scars
by Crowbartender
Summary: "Some dark thing had overtaken everything and posed as a wall between Miley and her mind. This was her way of coping. I needed her to feel again, to know the touches, the words, the looks, weren't always going to be malicious."


**I started writing this and was going for something completely different, but then I got a better idea and went with it. Miley never moved and Lilly's mum never got promoted. All is as we remember.**

* * *

She doesn't understand. She looks at me so intensely sometimes, but she never _sees_. She doesn't see the hidden sorrow, the confusion, the torrent of emotions wishing to be unleashed. She only sees her own reflection, and that's when she frowns the most.

Miley refused to be anywhere near a mirror ever since the accident. It reminded her that her dreams and career were completely ruined. No make-up would ever be enough. She knew everyone who stared was thinking the same thing she was. She heard the curious whispers and the revolted gasps and further accepted that she was, in fact, 'disfigured'.

Miley was hurt.

Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night and find her with a pillow over her face. I'd panic and shuffle closer, but she was only quieting her sobs. So, I would lay inches from her until dawn and tell her things would turn out okay as I stroked her hair but I could never decide who I was reassuring.

She'd bathe me in tears and then ask me again, and again, "Am I beautiful?" And every time I saw the way her eyes peered frantically at me with a brightness so vividly pained, I would have to swallow back tears of my own.

"Yes. You were before and you still are," I would reply, but every time I said something like this, she would watch me still, as if waiting for something more. I never knew what more I could say though, so I remained silent until she settled into my neck and fell asleep with a mournful sigh.

Life just wasn't the same. Miley wasn't the same. She not only lost the flawless image of her face, but also herself. She blames herself for what happened, when it was so clearly my fault. I was being heartless, cold, I didn't want her go on a tour and leave me behind to fend for myself in college, but she called me the selfish one (which I absolutely agree with now) and she'd stormed off. I didn't stop to think what would happen to her walking around the streets during the night, but when I received a phone call I almost didn't pick up, I regretted every word I'd said.

Miley had gotten home after our fight and lashed out at everything within reach, one of these things being a glass vase. She set her rage free and went to further destroy her household materials when she suddenly slipped on the water of the vase and fell. Right onto a huge glass shard. It severed one side of her face. She called me as she wept, pleading for me to get to her house as fast as I could before she even considered calling the hospital. It was the tremble and need in her voice that urged me to sprint my hardest, my fastest, and go to her.

I remember flying in and finding all the blood. Miley was on the floor, her cell phone in one hand, her other holding her shirt to her bleeding cheek. Gurgling sounds emitted from her throat as she choked on her own blood. I called the ambulance in an instant, hoping I wasn't too late.

They came, Miley was rushed to intensive care with me glued to her side, and Robbie was contacted immediately. I was barely able to hold my phone as I searched my contact list for his number. I was shaking and my grip was weak. I pressed the wrong key several times and cursed profusely under my breath, willing myself to breathe and find my voice so I could tell him what had happened.

The urgent words my mouth managed to babble into the mouthpiece were all Robbie needed to hear before the line went dead. The blurred streetlights flashed through the windows as Miley lay on a stretcher, her hand never once letting go of mine. The sirens of the ambulance were a distant noise, as the numbness of my body somehow blocked out all the sounds other than Miley's quiet mutters.

Robbie was already at the hospital when Miley was unloaded and he raced over to his daughter. His strong arm wrapped around my shoulders as we followed the surgeons, but they started to run as Miley's breathing faded and they shouted for us to remain behind. Robbie guided me through the hospital doors and we were instructed to make ourselves comfortable in the waiting area.

Plastic chairs. White walls. A TV that was muted. An empty room. This was meant to comfort us. Robbie's face looked incredibly pained and I almost didn't want to tell him it was my fault that this happened. It was fortunate that we were in a hospital because once I explained the reasons for Miley's careless behaviour, Robbie would probably break every bone in my body. Now, I knew he was naturally a gentle man, but if you messed with his family, your only hope to escape punishment was... well, nothing. You had to endure it.

However, Robbie was too worried about Miley, too eager for a successful operation that everything I told him didn't really reach his ears. He didn't have the mind to realise that he needed to be mad at me, because the only important thing that mattered was his little girl. I was falling into a state of shock and I was fixated on the hallway Miley had disappeared down. Every faint moan from dying patients sent a chill through me. They were so depressing and ghostly, longing to be free of illness or life, whichever was easier. Some of these sick people would be trapped in this building for months, years, and it was really disturbing when I realised that many hospital beds carried the death of someone who just couldn't hold on any longer.

The idea of losing Miley terrified me. Could a cut to the face kill her? Would she make it out of that operating room with a still beating heart? These worrisome thoughts were so loud in my head that I was unaware that Robbie was speaking. It wasn't directed at me and I didn't remember seeing anyone else in the waiting area, so the confusion this induced brought me out of my troubled mind for a moment.

Jackson was sitting next to Robbie and his usually tanned face had lost most of its colour. They spoke in low voices and I didn't attempt to decipher their words, because Robbie was either explaining the situation, or plotting my murder.

But I didn't care. All that mattered was Miley's survival. All that mattered was seeing her smiling face again and sharing my future with her. She's my best friend and will continue being just that when she gets out of this place. I would wait with hope for the final verdict.

Jackson attempted to start a conversation after about thirty minutes of hushed whispers with his father, but he lost his will to speak every time he aimed a petrified glance down the ghostly white hallway, wondering if his sister was struggling to stay alive.

I didn't know what I'd do if Miley bled to death. I never apologised for the fight, for being a jerk, and I never would have gotten the chance if it wasn't for my need to answer to her call, even when infuriated with her. I had no idea what would have happened if I never picked up the phone, but I thank every higher power for pushing me to do so.

Robbie, Jackson and I were trapped waiting for hours. We were dreading the results and were constantly sharing hopeful glimpses when we weren't watching the door to the operating room.

Finally, thankfully, the surgeon exited and approached us with an exhausted, but happy, expression. The tightness around our hearts and the heaviness on our shoulders vanished when we saw him.

He told us Miley was fine and she would make a full recovery. However, the twenty stiches adorning her face, from beneath her eye to her jaw, would leave their imprint forever, like a message written in concrete. I didn't know how we were going to tell Miley that her scar would be very prominent once the stitches were removed, but her morose attitude indicated that she was expecting the worst.

We arrived home and she started to cry as she clung to me. She didn't let go and she didn't stop crying.

She wept every day after that, discarding her Hannah wig permanently. I wasn't allowed to be away from her for longer than five minutes or she'd panic.

I'd resorted to moving in with her, just until she no longer needed me by her side for every waking moment. Oddly enough, she never once asked why I didn't go home. She never seemed dissatisfied to find me in her bed the next morning and when nights were more horrid than others, she'd curl around me, seeking familiarity, warmth, the physical feel of my company.

Miley wasn't Miley anymore.

* * *

"Lilly", Miley beckoned softly from her position by the front door. I moved towards her and her fingers slid between mine.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked and she smiled faintly.

"Yes. As long as I have you with me, I can do it."

Miley then stepped over the threshold for the first time in a month. She'd been confined to the house for so long, too terrified by the idea of everyone staring again, whispering and pointing. After that day, the day her stiches were removed and she went out into town with me where eyes were cruel and cynical, she refused to leave the house, no matter what Robbie and I tried to bribe her with. She had this... startling stare now. It was so vulnerable, raw, emotional. Any trace of a barrier was scarce and she revealed everything she felt to me with one look. There was no way in the world I would force her into anything when I saw right through her eyes and into her mind. Where all her fears, questions, and theories clashed, where she conjured ideas of ugliness, of taking on the veneer of some mutilated creature.

But Miley _was_ beautiful.

I tightened my hold on her hand and she glanced at me, her eyes questioning. The compulsion to put her at ease, to set her eyes and heart alight once more, to make her happy again was all so overwhelming. I needed to do something. Miley may have been clinging to me from the moment she was injured, but I never felt the distance between us quite as much as I have been for the past four weeks.

It was like she was far away. Somewhere deep within herself, just steering her body, but not feeling it. She was trapped in some other world, watching herself, controlling her actions, but that is all. Some dark thing had overtaken everything and posed as a wall between Miley and her mind. This was her way of coping. I needed her to feel again, to know the touches, the words, the looks, weren't always going to be malicious.

I made my choice then and ignored the gazes of those around us as I leant over and kissed her scar lightly. The texture of it against my lips was an odd sensation. Small lumps lay beneath a soft surface and while it wasn't the most pleasant thing to have my mouth pressed to, it was still Miley and I loved her regardless.

She jumped in shock and her hand flew to her face, caressing the healed wound, as if she'd never encountered it before. She appeared scared, more so than usual, but she also looked amazed.

"What was that for?" she enquired. I grinned and shrugged.

"Nothing in particular. Just for being pretty, I guess."

She smiled at this, a real one. It wasn't just a quirk of the lips that revealed no ounce of delight. No, this one had feeling. Finally.

* * *

We travelled to the beach, to an area not too populous, but still with enough people to get Miley accustomed to their presence after her month of solitude. Her fingers still gripped mine tightly, needily, and I implored with all I had that nothing would happen today to frighten Miley back into the suppressing life within her house. She couldn't be trapped between four walls forever, even though a little part of me believed her soul and spirit was abandoned somewhere back in that hospital.

We walked together slowly, steadily, taking our time to discover old turf once more. Miley's head was lowered, refusing to look the world in the face, her insecurities about stalking gazes too evident to ignore.

"Miley," I ventured, and she lifted her head warily. I gestured to the scattered people around us. "Are they watching?" I asked, and she observed everyone with an uneasy precision. But she saw. And she realised. No one paid attention to her, or her scar.

Miley twisted around and our eyes connected. She smiled for the second time today, her real smile, the one of a girl reborn, willing to present me with her dazzling joy for just a moment before it vanished behind smooth lips.

"I love you," she said softly, and I froze. A shock rattled my insides, shook me right to a place no one had touched ever before. I didn't know what it was, where it would take me, but then Miley embraced me and held me in place, not letting me crumble over the penetration of the unknown.

"Love you too," I mumbled back, her curled hair muffling my voice and my fear.

We parted and there was a new confidence breathing around Miley's body, something that relieved me so intensely that it almost ached. Miley wasn't someone that should alarm me with the things she made me feel, no matter how perplexing they were. Miley was my best friend, my other half, no matter how sheltered she had become. She was still just Miley.

"Hey!" A distant shout turned us around and past enemies appeared, striding briskly towards us with a sinister air. Amber and Ashley.

Suddenly defensive, I stepped between them and Miley, who released my hand and became a statue of terror. They were a few steps away now and they stared, _gaped,_ at Miley. I scowled threateningly.

"Stewart... What the hell happened to your face? And I thought you were ugly before!" Amber shrieked, her features creased with disgust.

"Yeah, Miley. Have you applied for the circus yet?" Ashley added, sharing a triumphant smile with Amber as they tore Miley down little by little. I moved forward, intent on murdering both of these idiots, but the lack of a body behind me made me stop. I whipped around and found Miley's form disappearing as she ran from us.

I glared at Amber and Ashley and said quietly, "You soulless bitches." And then I chased after Miley.

She fled to the only place she knew was safe: Home. We were progressing so well and now, thanks to those two spiteful whores, Miley was undoubtedly going to sink back into herself. What if I've lost her for good this time?

I quickened my pace until my legs were fire and my heart was ice. She needed me.

I burst through the front door of the Stewart house and aimed for the stairs, ascending them until I was at Miley's door, where I caught my breath. Once the irregularity lessened, I eased open her door and found her room empty. I didn't fret though, because I knew Miley. I knew her habits, and her secret places.

I stepped out of her bedroom and onto the adjoining veranda overlooking the navy sea, then I climbed onto the railing beside me and hoisted myself onto the roof, spotting my target. I crawled closer and to my surprise, there were no tears. What I found was worse. Miley's eyes, they were void. She looked broken, completely separated from herself. Before, there were just many wide cracks to mend, but now, there was just nothing left of her.

I joined her side and touched her shoulder, but she was unaware that I even existed. The starlight illuminated her face, and her scar, and I admired the shell of the girl I once knew. Her identity and beliefs were buried in her hateful outlook on her appearance and I was clueless as to how to assure her. I didn't know how to help, because the things I did normally wouldn't be enough this time.

"Miley..." I whispered, attempting to coax her out of her daze. She blinked, sparing me a sideways glance before reaching up to finger her scar as she searched the dark horizon for something I couldn't provide.

"I'm hideous. I know people say looks don't matter, but that's a lie. Who could ever see past this, Lilly? Who could see that behind this ugly scar was an even uglier person? My thoughts are just so negative lately. I feel like I'm a different person because I've become so infatuated with something that I wouldn't care about if it was on anyone else's face. I'm so shallow, so selfish," she growled, covering her eyes with her hands as she shook her head. Miley was in a place that I couldn't reach, but I didn't care. I'd still reach, and search, for eternity if need be, just to try and find my lost best friend among the blackness.

"I wish it was me who had the scar. You know I'm the one who deserves it, but life had to be cruel. What you did today was brave, Miley. Going out again. I wanted everything to be perfect, so you could see nothing had changed, but sadly, the wrong things stayed the same. What Amber and Ashley said was stupid and a lie. You're so gorgeous to me and when I look at you every morning, I don't see the scar. I see your eyes, your smile, I see your lack of happiness that I wish would come back, but most of all, I see who you are. And when you slip back into moments where you're just being you, that's when you're at your most beautiful." I paused for a second, gauging Miley's reaction, but she was motionless, expressionless, waiting. What _for_?

"I really do love you, Lilly. And you almost make me believe what you say is true, but..." she falters, sighing, battling with herself.

"But what?"

"But who would ever kiss me?"

Unprepared for such a question, I stared in bafflement as Miley cast her gaze back to the ocean, troubled once again. I went over the multitude of answers gathering in my head, but none of them quite felt right to say. The words building weren't enough. And Miley was waiting, always waiting.

And then I understood.

All of this time, I consistently thought she was waiting for me to _say _something. But she wasn't. She didn't want me to speak, she wanted me to act. She lingered close, not to hear a whispered nicety, but to receive the benefit of an action only I could do. Yet I never did it. Because I was a blind moron and overlooked what lied beneath the surface of not only Miley's heart, but my own.

I extended my hand then, knowing, realising after so long, and I gently made Miley turn around. We watched each other for a moment, silently communicating apologies and promises, and then I leant forward and kissed her.

She would no longer have to wait, because I now knew what she wanted. We explored curiously, softly. My fingers stroked her face delicately, treating the scar with care, as if it were something to be worshipped and not repulsed by.

We were just two best friends overstepping a line that probably was never even present to begin with. One of us scarred. One of us remorseful. Both of us falling.

* * *

**Opinions?**


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